“So, my father is Mac Donnelly, huh? Irish mafia boss?” I snort at the ridiculousness of life. A slight breeze lifts the hair from my cheek, and I shiver, despite the heat. “How could you not tell me?” Her name blurs as tears I thought were all emptied once again bubble to the surface. Not tears of anger this time but hurt. Betrayal. She was supposed to protect me.
I sigh. But wasn’t that what she was doing when it came down to it?
“Maybe you were going to tell me when I got older. When I knew more about the dangers those ties would come with.”
Yeah, I could see that. After all, she watched me fall in love with a boy in the mafia. How could she trust me not to want to meet my father? I was so naïve. Just like all children. Of course, I would’ve wanted to meet him back then. Now? There was no point. It would feel like a betrayal to her. She spent eighteen years hiding me from him. She must’ve had a good reason.
I snort. As if being head of the Irish mafia wasn’t a good enough reason.
I reach out and run a finger over the carving of her name. “Did you love him? Or was it just for money? I wish you could tell me your story. Tell me what kind of man he is. Aunt Carla’s the one who told him about me. Can you believe that? Apparently, she had gambling debt she asked him to wipe out in exchange for the information about me.”
I drop my arm with a sigh. “I have three half-brothers. Killian seems nice. We talked for a bit last night. Though, I was in no condition to have a deep conversation. The other two… Sully and Bran, I don’t know yet. I’m not sure I want to know them. You sacrificed so much to hide me from him, to keep me from that world. How can I now step willingly into it?”
And then Sandro slips into my thoughts, his smile, his eyes, his hands, the rose tattoo of my name he inked on his chest, and warmth engulfs me.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back, letting the sun soak into my skin, my bones. “I still love him, Mom. For him, if I had thechoice, I would step into that world.” Tears spill over and drip into the earth. “So help me God, I would. If he didn’t have to marry Giada. I wouldn’t even care if I had to be his mistress, locked in the shadows of his life. How pathetic is that?” A gruff laugh escapes me, and I look back at the tombstone. “Is this what you felt? How am I in the same position as you were? Is it fate? Or does the universe have a really screwed-up sense of humor?”
A squirrel chitters as it explores the ground three tombstones over. It rears on its back feet and stares at me, sniffing the air. Then darts away.
“Everyone’s a critic,” I whisper, then push myself to stand. “Even though I’m kind of mad at you right now, I miss you, Mom.”
I slam my car door and crank the key. A sickly grinding sound answers. When it rains it pours. I try again and now there’s just a clicking noise. I blink and stare out the window, trying to remember if I have roadside assistance with my car insurance. My brain is revolting. It’s too much.
Feeling like a zombie, I dig the insurance card out of my glove box and call them. After I confirm past-me was smart enough to add towing, I call Sloane.
She picks up on the first ring and sounds breathless. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just having car trouble. You busy? I kinda need a ride home.”
“Never too busy for you. Drop me a pin and I’ll be there.”
“You’re a lifesaver. See ya soon.” I drop her my location and then exit the car. It’s too hot to sit inside. I lean against the hood and scroll through my phone as I wait.
There’s a text from Killian with a picture of a man sitting at a table. The word “Da” below it.
I download the photo then pinch the screen to enlarge it. The man has a full head of gray hair, light eyes that sparkle with secrets. He’s not smiling, but there’s something about the tilt of his lips that gives the impression he’s amused. I try to see him through the lens of my mom. What did she see in him? Is this a man she could’ve loved? A man with blood on his hands and violence in his veins?
A man like Sandro, a little voice whispers in my head.
I’m typing out an email to my boss with an update, letting her know I’ll be back on Monday, when Sloane pulls up.
She hops out of the car and rushes over, yanking me into a hug. She pulls back and her hazel eyes are glistening with tears. “It’s so good to see your face. I’ve been so worried.”
I force a smile. “I’m okay.”
Her eyes narrow. “Well, that’s a lie.” She grabs my hand. “Come on, I’m buying you lunch and you’re going to catch me up.”
I feel my shoulders relax as she leads me to her car, still clutching my hand. I suddenly don’t feel so alone. “Bossy as always,” I tease as I slip into the passenger seat.
We end up at an intimate Mexican restaurant downtown. We’re seated outside at a bistro table in the corner, beneath an umbrella for protection from the brutal summer sun. Any breeze there may be today is blocked by the tall buildings, and sweat is trickling down my sides. My mind is swirling with so many things, I barely notice.
Sloane picks up her ice water with lemon and raises an eyebrow. “Okay spill. Start from the car accident.”
I take a large drink from my own water and then tell her everything. Starting with Sandro busting into my office, how my Russian client said he saved her from trafficking, then to the Russians plowing into Sandro’s car and kidnapping me.
At this point, Sloane calls the waiter over and orders a pitcher of margaritas.
Her face has paled but she stays quiet as I recount the last few days between bites of chicken tacos and sips of margarita. When I get to the part about Killian, I hesitate for a moment. Should I tell her my biological father is an Irish mob boss?
